


Fjord Slays the Serpent

by collectingnames



Series: Fjorclay Week [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Blood and Injury, Confessions, Crushes, First Kiss, Folk Tales, M/M, Resolved Romantic Tension, fairy tale/mythology, fjorclay, fjorclay week, li chi slays the serpent, retellings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23730793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collectingnames/pseuds/collectingnames
Summary: There lived a great serpent in the depths of the Lucidian Ocean, a horrible creature longer than any of the great ships of either the Empire or the Dynasty, its fearsome form was covered in yellow lantern eyes.  And the creature wouldn’t have been of any concern if it had confined itself to feasting only on the other creatures of the depths.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord
Series: Fjorclay Week [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710829
Kudos: 44





	Fjord Slays the Serpent

**Author's Note:**

> A retelling of Li Chi Slays the Serpent as fjorclay. I saw this prompt and immediately pulled out my copy of Not One Damsel in Distress bc I remembered this story. There is a big fight/battle, it's not particularly excessive but by the nature of the beast, there are some not so graphic mentions of eye injuries so if eye injuries are a no go for you be warned.

There lived a great serpent in the depths of the Lucidian Ocean, a horrible creature longer than any of the great ships of either the Empire or the Dynasty, its fearsome form was covered in yellow lantern eyes. And the creature wouldn’t have been of any concern if it had confined itself to feasting only on the other creatures of the depths. Worried whispers coursed across Wildemount as the serpent’s hunger grew, at first attacking pirate ships, but the Revelry was no match for the monster. Fearful silence gripped the coast as news of the serpent stopped, unsure if the thing was dead or if there was no one left to send back word of its movements.

Everyone’s questions were answered when the horrible beast rose from the sea and made its lair in the hills surrounding Nicodranas. The citizens of the Menagerie Coast waited with bated breath to see what the serpent would do next. The answer to their question? It ate a magistrate traveling from the city into the heart of the Empire to plead for help. The serpent grew more bold from that point, devouring any foolish enough to get too close to its lair.

So another magistrate was sent, this time with twenty men to confront the serpent and see what could be done to quench its bloodlust. The entrance of its cave was framed in crushed bone, the grass stained with blood. At first, they thought the cave empty, until slowly, each of the serpent’s eyes opened, yellow eyes pinpricks of light in the depths of the darkness.

It slithered out to the mouth of its lair, “ _Consume_.”

“Why have you come here?” The second magistrate demanded.

All of its eyes turned to the officious man, “ _Provoke?_ ”

“No, no, no, we are not here to provoke you, serpent!” 

“ _Uk’otoa_ ,” it slithers closer, bones crushing to dust underneath the powerful muscle of its body.

“Of course! Of course, we have not come to provoke you, Uk’otoa! What do you want?”

“ _Consume_ ,” it repeats itself.

“And what do you wish to consume?”

And so every year one of the coastal cities would deliver a youth unto Uk’otoa and its hunger would be quenched until the next year. Every year, for nine years this continued. Each year a new youth that would go missed by no one, bound and gagged and left for the serpent of the hills.

**_The Tenth Year_ **

Fjord can see them when he looks out the window of the DriftWood Asylum, the Empire men here to pick the serpent’s sacrifice. He knows they’ll turn their eye to the Asylum sooner rather than later. And he knows what he’ll have to do. The rusted, battered falchion stashed underneath his bed can barely cut anything but it’s all he has and he isn’t supposed to have it, to begin with. There are just a few things he has to do first.

He slips out of the Asylum without anyone paying him any mind and heads for the docks. It’s a shame, to put it lightly. Vandran is a good captain, always treated him kindly, he runs a tight ship. Even if he somehow hadn’t seen Sabian’s mean streak, or at least not acknowledged it. Without a second thought he makes his way along the docks to where the _Tide’s Breath_ is docked. The crewmen recognize him and nod hello as he comes on board. Vandran is standing with his back to him, keeping an eye on a group of sailors as they work on the rigging.

Fjord clears his throat, “Sir?”

Vandran perks his head up and turns, “Fjord! What’re you doin’ here?”

“I uh, I need to talk to you, if that’s alright?” 

Vandran whistles to his first mate and gestures for him to take his place, then gestures for Fjord to follow him below decks, “Is somethin’ wrong?”

“No, it’s just, a change of plans is all,” he doesn’t quite lie.

“Are you not joinin’ the crew anymore?”

“No, I’m sorry sir, I’m not. Something else came up. I only did it on a lark. I didn’t think it would work but um, my application got accepted,” he spins the lie.

Vandran’s eyes go wide, “Soltryce?”

“Yeah, I was surprised too but I have to take it. I can’t let this pass me by-.”

Vandran stops him from over-explaining, putting a hand on his shoulder, “I’m proud of you, boy.”

“Thank you, sir,” he fights the impulse to look away from his gaze.

A flicker of concern returns to his face, “Have you told that friend of yours you’re leaving yet? The pink one?”

“No, I’m going to see him next.”

Vandran squeezes his shoulder, “Hey, I’m rootin’ for you, go show all them wizards what you’re made of. And I’m sure that friend of yours will understand.”

“I hope so.”

Fjord carefully makes his way down the steep, rocky beach towards where he knows he’ll find Caduceus. Caduceus is a strange one, to say the least. He just kind of showed up one day, clearly for a reason but whatever it is he’s keeping it to himself. By Caduceus’s word, he’s just passing through, despite being here for the better part of a year now. It sounds like he’s on a quest of some sort from what little he can put together. So it had taken him off guard just how close he’d grown to the strange cleric. He’s strange and occasionally says something wise but baffling. And he’s calm and steady as a rock in a storm.

He **needs** to tell him that he’s leaving. It’s just a shame that for the life of him he can’t get himself to look him in the eye and lie. It’s weird and he doesn’t want this tangle of feelings that’ve made a home in his chest but he also does because why on earth would he want to give up this warm glow that washes over him when he talks to Caduceus? Why would he want to get rid of how he feels _seen_ when Caduceus’s gentle magenta eyes fix on him?

He slips on a particularly slick stone, dislodging it and sending a tumble of rocks down the beach. The sound of clattering rocks resounds down the beach.

The rickety door of the little hut creaks open and Caduceus sticks his head out and looks for the source, quickly noticing him about halfway down the rocks, “Fjord? What are you doing here?”

He picks up his pace, getting less careful, “I need to talk to you!”

Something hopeful lights up in Caduceus’s eyes as he shuts the door behind him, “What is it?”

“I-! Hold on! One second!”

“Oh, right, of course,” he calls back and waits for him to make his way down to the sand.

Once he reaches Caduceus he has to take a second to pull his lie back together, to psych himself up to tell him, “I’m leaving.”

“Already? With Vandran? I thought you weren’t joining the crew until your birthday?” Caduceus’s ears flick up in confusion.

“No,” he stares down at his feet, “it’s not that. There’s been a change of plans.”

“Where are you going, then?”

The moment he meets Caduceus’s eyes his resolve disappears in a puff of smoke, “I’m going to kill Uk’otoa.”

He freezes, seems to doubt him for a moment, then decides it’s too outlandish to be worth lying about, “No, you can’t! Fjord you’re going to get yourself killed!”

“I’m going to do it and you can’t stop me. I just couldn’t leave without telling you why I’d gone,” his voice goes tight.

He sounds like he’s on the brink of tears, “Why? You don’t have to do this.”

“Because every year they decide who’s the most worthless, who nobody would miss and I’m fucking sick of it. So what if I die? I have to at least try. It’s okay, I’m nothing,” he starts to turn to leave, set in his decision.

Caduceus grabs his wrist but doesn’t look him in the eye when he looks over his shoulder at him, “Not to me.”

That almost breaks his resolve, “I’m doing it, Caduceus.”

He turns back to the shack, “Alright then.”

“Caduceus, I-,” he follows after him.

“Don’t, you're not sorry," he calls back, already inside. 

"I'm sorry!" He shouts at his back anyway.

Caduceus spins around on the ball of his foot and marches out holding something in his hands, "What did you plan on using anyway? That rusted falchion you dug out of gods knows where? It's going to shatter into a million pieces the moment you hit his scales."

He shoves the object into Fjord's hands, forcing him back a step. It takes him a second to recognize the length and heft of it. In his arms is a longsword, resting in a finely polished sheath, the leather embossed with an unfamiliar script. The cold of the metal bites through it. He takes stock of the turquoise gem glistening in the center of the crossguard and the delicate coursing lines in the metalwork of the hilt. Speechless, he gazes up at Caduceus, as if asking permission. He nods. Reverently, he unsheathes the sword a few inches. It has an otherworldly aura to it as it's unveiled. Runes matching the sheath in style are inscribed down the center. How in the names of all the gods drifter-cleric-in-a-beach-shack Caduceus Clay got his hands on this is beyond him.

"How…?" He stares up at him completely awestruck.

"Family heirloom," is the only explanation he offers.

"I can't-."

"Yes, you will. If you're going to do this, the least you can do is give yourself a fighting chance," he puts a hand over his own to resheathe it.

"Caduceus," the words almost come out.

He snatches his shirt in one hand and angrily puts a kiss to his forehead, lets go and turns back inside, "Good luck."

The next morning he’s already there at the front door of the Asylum when one of the Empire men comes looking for a nothing to feed to Uk’otoa. As he expected, there’s surprise but no protests when he offers himself up. All he asks is that they leave his hands untied and let him bring Caduceus’s sword. Because why does it matter if he’s armed? Why does it matter if he’s left unbound? Uk’otoa is going to eat him either way. It definitely sweetens the pot that he offers to let them keep the sword if he fails. They give him a day to sort out his affairs, he thinks he’s ready. 

When dawn breaks the next day he sees the soldiers coming to take him from his window. Maybe ten of them? Without any fanfare he leaves to meet them. He presents a cool facade while his gut twists with nerves. And his stomach lurches violently when he sees the pink-haired man standing a head taller than the rest of the soldiers. Clearly he’s supposed to be there, none of these soldiers are questioning his presence but what is he doing here? He sighs and does his best to not react, not make eye contact.

The soldier that looks most important steps forward, “Fjord Stone?”

“That’s me,” he says plainly.

He gestures for one of his men to come forward and pulls a set of manacles from his belt, “Your hand, just to make sure you don’t try anything.”

As if it couldn’t get any worse, Caduceus is the one to step forward and he tries to keep acting normal even as he’s handcuffed to him, “I understand.”

The moment the man is far enough away he tugs down on the manacles to make him bend down to his level where he can whisper, “ _What are you doing here?_ ”

“A party of soldiers going to Uk’otoa? Of course, they’re going to bring a cleric with them,” he whispers back with a hint of a smug smile.

“You’re awful,” he fumes.

“I know,” The smug smile grows as Caduceus, and by extension Fjord, falls into step with the party.

It’s a slow march to Uk’otoa’s lair in the hills. Each step makes it feel even more sluggish like they’re crawling on their bellies through the mud. He can overhear the chatter among the soldiers, arguing who’s going to go back to get the sword once he’s been devoured. If Caduceus is put out by him offering it up he makes no sign or mention of it.

The stench hits long before he sees it. Something worse than any dead vermin he’s had to clean up before. And the knowledge that it comes from at least nine people makes the foul odor unspeakably worse. After perhaps another hour of travel, the bones start to litter the path, animals of varying sizes. Not long after that, the cave comes into view.

The leader takes them by the chain connecting their halves of the manacles and guides them to mere feet in front of the mouth of the cave. He fishes out a key from his pockets, as he unlocks them, “You’re an idiot, but maybe you’re a lucky idiot. Mr. Clay, back with us.”

With a passing glance at Fjord, he follows after, “Yes, sir.”

Fjord unsheathes the sword and tests the balance in his hand, tries going through the one or two moves he’s taught himself as he tries to learn how they feel with a proper weapon. The faintest rasping noise scrapes against his ears. Clenching his jaw he runs through the drill again one last time as the scales dashing along the ground approach. Even pretends not to notice when the eyes come into view. His every instinct demands that he run from the thing but he stays transfixed on his task.

The rasping voice of Uk’otoa fills the eerie silence of the empty hills, “ _Sacrifice_.”

“That’s me,” he brandishes the sword in a rough approximation of en garde.

Uk’otoa makes a sound that’s an eldritch approximation of a laugh, “ _CONSUME_.”

Slashing across its face as he takes a wild swing at the open maw in front of him. It hisses and strikes out at him again. Misses. Another wild slash to one of its eyes. Pained hiss. Uk’otoa slithers further out to attempt to give itself more room to fight and it exposes himself further. For such a fearsome creature it’s gone soft from not having to properly hunt for a decade. The yellow lantern eyes, while terrifying, are soft, squishy points that fall apart like butter underneath his blade. Nearly all of Uk’otoa’s body extends from the cave now. The sound of something _wooshing_ through the air next to his head distracts him.

The powerful muscle of Uk’otoa’s tail clobbers him in the head, the serpent’s fury rings out through the hills, “ **_CONSUME_ **.”

Uk’otoa buries its fangs in his right shoulder. The pain and location of the blow make him involuntarily drop the sword. He can see it when he tips his head up, thin streams of his own blood, trailing past the massive fangs. Maybe. Fuck it, maybe is good enough. He desperately kicks and claws at its face. The difference between hitting and missing is a sliver of fingernail, just barely able to reach and claw at an eye. It recoils with its mouth opening to cry out. A new pain flares when the fangs are pulled out of him but more adrenaline than blood is pounding in his veins.

It’s an _awful_ vantage point but he scrambles to grab the sword with his still working hand and with abandon swings it up into the soft underside of his jaw.

He lies there panting in the blood-soaked grass when he notices that the weight impaled on his sword isn’t moving. _It isn’t moving_. He dares to open his eyes and is met with the slain serpent. Gravity helps him retrieve the sword however it also pins him down with the dead creature.

As the adrenaline fades the pain returns and he can’t tell if the bleeding is slowing or worsening. He makes a weak attempt to try and free himself but he feels so boneless he can barely move. At least he killed it though.

The pressure on his front suddenly tumbles off of him with strained grunts, a faint puff of dust rising as it hits the ground, “Fjord!”

He only groans in response.

Hands apply pressure to the wound and he gasps when the magic hits, “Fjord! Fjord can you hear me?!”

The late afternoon sun glares behind Caduceus’s head, strong enough to throw him in silhouette, “Caduceus?”

“I, I, oh my gods _you’re alive_ ,” he pulls him up into his arms heedless of the gore coating him.

Fjord finds the strength to pick up his head and rest their foreheads together, “You came back?”

“Of course I did,” he says, tenderly wiping away some of the mess on his cheek.

Maybe it’s the blood loss, “I love the way you look at me.”

“What?”

He tips his head into Caduceus’s touch, “You, you make me feel seen.”

“I know, I know,” he soothes.

“I love you,” it falls off his tongue so naturally.

Caduceus stills.

Panic washes through him, the haze from the blood-loss convinces him that he’s done something wrong. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I love you. I did this knowing that I’m in love with you.”

“Fjord?” his voice pitches up in concern.

His tongue has gone loose and rambly, eyes watering, “ _I love you sooo muuuch._ ”

What seems like a nervous chuckle slips out of him and he manages to stand, pulling Fjord up with him, “It’s okay, I know, I know, Fjord.”

If he were completely lucid he would be mortified by how loud he’s being, “ _I looooove you!_ ”

He wakes up on a bedroll when the glaring sunset comes between the hills straight into his face. It takes more effort than he anticipates to sit up. Glancing down his front he sees the cleaned and dressed wound and his now clean skin. He scrubs his hands down his face and looks around to try and see where he is. Still at the cave, though he’s thrown off guard by the colorful fungi growing from the body of Uk’otoa. A few feet in front of him is a campfire, where Caduceus sits on the other side.

Caduceus looks up from his task and notices him moving, “You’re awake!”

“How long was I out?” He cringes at the foul taste in his mouth.

Caduceus rushes over to him, “Uh...a few hours? Not that long but still probably too long. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Yeah, I could imagine,” he chuckles.

“I…,” he trails off and half-remembers the last few things he said before passing out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I don’t know, I think it was pretty endearing, very earnest.”

This time when he kisses him it’s sweet and gentle and lasts until he’s breathless. Caduceus’s earthy, herbal scent washes over him and he wishes he could always be near it. Not sure what to do with his hands he tentatively lets a hand hover over Caduceus’s shoulder. Caduceus, on the other hand, is much more confident when he cradles his jaw in one palm.

Fjord has to break away first, “I, uh, wow.”

“Don’t apologize.”

He hesitates, but forces himself to be the one to say it first, “I love you.”

Caduceus mumbles it against his lips as he goes in for another kiss,

“I love you too.”

_And so from that day to this, the hills of the Menagerie Coast were never again plagued by monstrous serpents._


End file.
